


What Lies Beneath

by Blue_Night



Series: What Happens [2]
Category: Men's Football RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anal Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotions, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Frustration, Hand Jobs, M/M, Self-Doubt, Semi-Public Sex, after the game, sex as a valve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 11:33:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16367081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Night/pseuds/Blue_Night
Summary: Thomas has to watch his team score and win against Wolfsburg without him, and Robert is there to offer him a valve for his frustration and his bottled up feelings.





	What Lies Beneath

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Janie94](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janie94/gifts).



> My dear sister in crime,  
> see what you're doing to me - I never thought that I would ever be happy about a Bayern victory, but I actually was yesterday...That must be your bad influence, I guess... ;-*  
> This here is for everything you've pulled me through with your Golden Marco and your Red Robert lately. I know that I owe you a bunch of answers and comments, I hope that I will be able to do that over the next days.  
> I'm not sure what this here actually is, I guess that I wanted to explore Thomas' 'darker' side again for once...

Sitting on the bench during the game is pure torture.

Thomas wants to be on the pitch together with his teammates so badly that he feels sick to his stomach, but he keeps his face straight and schools his features into a mask of attentive calmness he doesn't feel at all. What lies beneath this facade of professionalism is none of anybody else's business, especially not the business of the media that attest him that he's actually too old to be a good footballer any longer.

Damn it, he's not even thirty, and he has much more to offer than just speedy legs.

Thomas knows that the last two seasons haven't been great ones for him, that's true, but not everything about them and his problems are his own fault alone, and he's determined to prove all those doubters wrong.

If he'll ever get the chance to do that, because he can't prove himself while sitting on the bench.

But that's what he's doing right now, and Thomas grits his teeth and forces his features to relax and not show his inner turmoil and his real feelings whenever he feels the merciless eye of the camera directed at him during the game.

His own eyes are glued to his teammates, sucking in each and every movement they're making, and he only realizes that he's been holding his breath when his lungs start to burn and his vision to blur after the first Bayern goal in what feels like ages.

The man who has shot this so important goal darts his deep blue gaze at him just for a split second before Thomas' teammates on the pitch surround him to celebrate his scoring, and Thomas bites on the insides of his cheeks because he knows that the cameras are busied with their newly rediscovered heroes now and not with the losers who have to watch their team finding back to old strength from the sideline without them.

Fame and shame lie so close together, two sides of a very thin and fragile coin. The wind of fate throws it into the air every day anew, and all you can do is to watch it tumbling down again and hope that the side showing fame will blink in the sunlight when the coin will finally come to a halt on the ground instead of being trashed in the dirt and the dust of the long and winding road of a human's life.

Thomas' coin has shown the ugly and dark side of shame far too often over the last two years, and the despair, doubts, hurt and grief that come with it are carefully bottled up right under the surface of his crooked smile, ready to burst within the next second if Thomas will ever fail in keeping them at bay and hidden behind the facade of chilled carelessness he's always been known for.

There are only very few people knowing him well enough to be allowed of taking a look at what lies beneath the cheerful and untroubled mask he puts on for the publicity every day; and the man who has gotten the chance to prove all those haters and doubters wrong today and quickly becomes the man of the match with his goals is one of them.

Their eyes meet again when Robert Lewandowski shoots the second goal on that fateful Saturday afternoon, and Thomas swallows and smiles, cheering with his companions sitting next to him while he feels like a volcano under pressure that will explode at any second, frustration burning in his throat like acid.

 

***

 

The club is crowded and the music is loud, the hammering techno beat drumming in every cell of Thomas' body. His teammates are celebrating their first victory within weeks as if they had already won the championship for the seventh time in a row, and he knows that he should celebrate with them because he's still a part of them, still a Bavarian through and through, even when he has to watch the others win from the bench.

Thomas' head is hurting from the flickering lights and the loud beat, but he ignores his pain and tightens his grip around his glass as he watches the other players jumping up and down on the dance floor, being more or less in sync with the rhythm.

Robert Lewandowski is dancing too, a sleek and elegant black panther among the horde of his exalted teammates. The dark-haired striker dances like he plays and scores, with gracious and fluent motions, never taking an unnecessary step too much. That's actually his secret – and also something he's been blamed for a lot of times by people who don't know or understand him like Thomas actually does.

The Polish footballer never tires himself out for nothing, and this is one of the reasons why he's playing without serious injuries for years by now.

Robert Lewandowski dances like he fucks, but that's something even fewer people know.

Thomas averts his eyes from the other man, thinking that the beautiful black panther will always find his way to him if he wants to find him anyway.

The Bavarian with the hair color that resembles dark honey is not in the mood to party and dance, but he doesn't want to ruin the cheerful mood his colleagues are in either, and he has been here often enough to know the dark corners and the places where he can hide for some time without being in danger to be disturbed or found by people he doesn't want them to go after him.

The humming beat follows him as he's making his way through the crowd, and Thomas suddenly feels old and tired, totally out of place – just like parents probably feel when they come to a party to pick their teenage children up and bring them home again safely when they have drunk too much.

Maybe the press and all those self-appointed experts are right and he's indeed too old for being a professional player of a club like the FC Bayern, maybe he should start thinking about what will come next – before the coin deciding about his fate will start to always fall onto the wrong side and shame will be the only thing that's left for him.

A low growl next to his ear makes him flinch, and he's shoved against the wall before he has the slightest chance to react. The black panther will not be heard or seen when he's creeping up on his prey, but that Robert was able to catch him by surprise only adds to Thomas' frustration, the helix of his dark thoughts running downwards faster and faster.

The lava boiling inside him is ready to burst, and Thomas hisses in anger and tries to push Robert away from him, but the latter only turns him around and grasps him by his shoulders, and his tongue is in Thomas' mouth in the next second, swallowing his hoarse snarl.

Thomas doesn't stop fighting – even though this is what he needs and what he wanted ever since he watched Robert score twice today – and his fingers come up to pull at Robert's dark hair. It's too short for him to succeed in his useless attempts to bring some distance between their bodies, and Thomas briefly regrets that Robert wears his wonderful hair cut that short lately.

Perhaps Marco told him that he likes it better this way, Thomas can't be sure. Marco is like a huge dark shadow in their lives, always there but never to grasp, fading every time Thomas reaches out for it and coming back when Thomas least expects it, clouding the sun and making him feel cold down to his bones.

Robert's agile tongue in his mouth distracts him from his rival and his dark thoughts though, and Thomas keeps his hands in Robert's hair, his nails digging into his scalp, but he doesn't try to pull or push any longer, kissing the other one back at last.

Their kiss is messy and urgent and wet, more a battle than a real kiss, but it's what Thomas needs, and Robert always gives him what he needs, even when Marco's shadow is hanging over them. Tonight it isn't the case, Thomas can feel the difference in Robert's kiss, and he's grateful that he doesn't have to share him with Marco's shadow for once.

The striker's tongue pushes deep into his mouth, and Robert's body is hard and hot against his own, heat radiating from him after his workout on the dance floor. Robert's elegant fingers are already making their way to Thomas' jeans, not wasting their precious time, and he opens them with practiced ease. Thomas is much more clumsy in his attempt to liberate Robert from the tight garment when he finally loosens his tight grip from Robert's hair and drops his hand down to the zipper of Robert's dark jeans, the hard length of Robert's cock twitching against his palm as he fumbles with his fly.

“We shouldn't do that here,” Thomas says, and Robert smirks against his lips. “Yes, we should, and we will. This is what you wanted me to do all night long, Müller.”

It is, but Thomas is not ready to admit that, and he snarls and crashes their lips together again instead of giving him an answer. It is a relief when the pressure on his painful erection lessens and the hot and sticky air of the club grazes it in some kind of caress until Robert wraps his hand around both of them to stroke and tease and caress.

Thomas is already embarassingly close, the tip of his cock slick with precome, and the milky droplets intermingle with the slickness coating the head of Robert's dick. They don't have lube to make this easier, and it's still too dry not to be rough and harsh, but Thomas doesn't mind the vague discomfort, quite the opposite. The slight burn of Robert's calloused palm rubbing over he dry skin of his cock makes him forget the burning feeling in his throat, the acid burn of failure and shame, and Thomas lets the sensations wash over him and just deepens their hungry and angry kiss until his world shrinks to the dark niche in the club and Robert's hand on him.

His body is buzzing with adrenaline and too much energy, and Thomas is feeling like a horny teenager in this moment, trapped between a hard wall and Robert's body, finally not feeling like the old man he's turned into ever since that horrible summer that made him lose his belief and his faith in himself and everything that had defined him so far.

He thinks that Robert must feel the same way, his summer hasn't been better than Thomas' in any way after all, and his anger about Robert having played while he was sitting on the bench behind the sideline drains away from him. Robert's hand is stroking up and down on their ridiculously hard cocks, pressing them together with every up and down, and Thomas explodes with the next move, his low moan muffled in Robert's mouth. His ecstasy bristles all over Robert's hand and his pulsing dick, and Thomas doesn't care about the mess he's making, all he cares about is the release coursing through him when the tension eventually leaves his body. Robert follows him over the edge when he feels Thomas' pleasure coating his own cock, and he tightens his grip around their cocks until they both soften and Thomas draws back from his lips with a strangled gasp.

Thomas can feel his eyes upon his flushed face, but he doesn't want to open his own eyes and face reality again, but dwell in the warm bliss flowing through his body for a while longer.

“Don't listen to them, Tommy, don't let them get through to you with their shit,” Robert murmurs, offering a short moment of tenderness. “It's hard,” he whispers back, eyes still closed, and the dark-haired striker cups his cheek and leans their foreheads together. “I know. But don't let them do that to you.”

“I won't,” Thomas promises, and he almost believes his own words.

 

***

 

They're home again, at Robert's place. It's late, but Thomas doesn't feel tired. He's wide awake, and he's still hard and horny, craving for something he's afraid to give it a name. Robert is already giving him more than Thomas thought that he would ever get from the beautiful man with the cerulean blue eyes and the dark hair, and he knows better than to ask for something he can never have because of Marco's shadow still hanging over their heads - even after all those years that Robert is already playing for the FCB.

Thomas is naked on Robert's bed, staring down at him.

Robert returns his gaze, and his eyes sparkle in the darkness of his bedroom when his lips curl into a sly smile. “What are you waiting for, Müller? Show me that you haven't lost your punch. Come on and fuck me, tiger!”

Their roles will be reversed tonight, but Robert is still the one in charge, and he won't let Thomas forget that for even a second as it would seem.

Thomas growls and bends down to silence him and kiss the challenging grin from his lips, his position on top of the other man granting him that he will be in control of their encounter at least partly. Robert opens his mouth for him without objection, kissing him back eagerly. If Marco's shadow is still hanging over them tonight, then Thomas can't see it this time because the night is too dark to see anything that is not right before his eyes, and he's actually grateful for the darkness that allows him to hide his true feelings and keep them to himself.

The thin layer of his dignity and pride is still intact, and what lies beneath it is not meant for others to see, even not for Robert, not tonight. Thomas knows that most people only see his crooked smile and his jokes, and he has always been fine with that, but everything has changed over the past two years. He has changed.

His new self is so different from his old one that he has troubles with recognizing himself far too often, and Thomas sometimes fears that he will never find his way back, especially in nights like this one, after having sat on the bench for ninety agonizing minutes, watching his team win without him being an active part of their victory.

Maybe fucking Robert will help him, it will at least grant him some time without having to think; and so Thomas pushes his tongue deep into Robert's mouth to claim it, licking and probing and tasting until his mind is pleasantly blank and the ache in his groin is too strong to ignore it for longer.

Thomas is more kneeling over Robert than actually lying on top of him, and the dark-haired striker smiles at him when they part again, his lips swollen and shimmering from Thomas' passionate onslaught on them.

“I'm all yours tonight, Tommy, you can have me without,” he whispers, and Thomas fears that he will come right on the spot. They don't do it often without condom, and he knows that it's not because Robert fears that he could catch a bad disease, but because of Marco's shadow. Marco was Robert's first man, his first love, and he was the first man marking Robert Lewandowski as his. The memory still weighs heavily, and that Robert allows him to have him bare tonight speaks volumes of Thomas' state and the despair he must be giving away actually.

“Are you sure?” he murmurs, and Robert nods. “More than sure.” He takes the bottle to line Thomas up, and the latter has to bite his lip to keep himself from just losing it. His blood is drumming in his ears like the techno beat in the club was doing, and he pushes Robert's legs apart with a grunt before he can think twice and maybe get cold feet or say something really, really stupid.

Robert wraps his arms around him and pulls him down onto his naked body. He's still soft, but he grows hard against Thomas' abs when he sinks into him with a moan that sounds more like a sob. The dark-haired striker is so tight and hot around his aching cock, his secret core cramping around the passionate intruder because of the burn of being taken unprepared.

Thomas stills his hips when he's sheathed inside Robert balls-deep, taking deep breaths to give the other man time to adjust to him. “Fuck, you're so big, tiger,” Robert breathes, and Thomas can't help but grin smugly. He kisses the corners of Robert's mouth to soothe him. “Too big for you, Lewy?” he asks, and Robert chuckles weakly into his mouth. “Never, tiger. Now fuck me finally, will you?”

“Only you can be so bossy while having a cock up your ass,” Thomas observes, but he starts to move like he's been told, slowly pulling out just to ram himself back into Robert's quivering hole.

“You like me being bossy and ordering you around when we're in bed, Müller, so stop complaining about it. It's your secret kink.”

“Not so secret if you know about it, I guess,” Thomas gasps out. “Okay, let's see if I can shut you up for a while. Keeping up talking is hard while being fucked through the mattress, isn't it?”

“Who's the one who should shut up now, tiger? Get on with the fucking part.”

And Thomas does, speeding up until he's pounding Robert into the mattress with his hard thrusts, shifting his weight to support it with his left forearm in order to push into him harder and faster, and Robert rewards him with low groans and growls that escape his throat every time Thomas thrusts back inside him, battering his nerves with his relentless pummeling.

They lose all tracks of time, trapped in their own little world where nothing else exists than lust and pleasure, and Thomas bends down and kisses Robert again, craving to give Robert something back for what he's willing to do for him. The dark-haired striker is leaking against his abdomen, and Thomas takes him in his hand and strokes him in the same rhythm he pushes into him with. His tongue is mirroring what he's doing with his hand and his rock-hard cock, and he can feel Robert's passage tightening around him with Robert's approaching orgasm.

Thomas wants him to come first, and he does his best to hit his prostate with every deep and hard thrust, drinking Robert's scream from his lips when the other man comes undone beneath him, pumping his seed hard and fast into Thomas' hand.

Robert's orgasm pulls his own ecstasy from him, and Thomas follows him over the edge with a triumphant snarl when he explodes, painting Robert's clenching walls with the creamy stripes of his release in several powerful spurts.

He almost crushes Robert with his weight when he slumps down on top of him, but Robert doesn't try to push him away, and they lie like this for a while, listening to their harsh breathing slowly calming down again.

 

***

 

Later they do it again, the other way around this time. Thomas lets Robert press him down until he's kneeling before him with his elbows braced against the mattress and his ass up in the air, his face buried in his forearms.

Robert is gentle with him, but Thomas feels raw and vulnerable, glad that Robert isn't watching him while he fucks him from behind until Thomas has to bite into his wrist to keep himself from screaming. He comes untouched just from the way Robert moves inside him without any barrier, staining the bedsheets underneath him with his desperate release. He's shaking with the force of his emotions by the time he feels Robert shooting into him hot and wet, filling the all-consuming emptiness inside him with his passion and warmth for a few precious hours.

Marco's shadow is not detectable in the blackness of the early morning hours when Robert pulls him in his arms from behind, mouthing at his neck with sleepy satisfaction. The striker is worn out from the game, from their victory, the party and their lovemaking, but Thomas is still awake when Robert's breaths become even, staring into the darkness with dry but burning eyes.

It takes two more hours for him to fall asleep as well, the deep blackness of the night already fading to the smooth gray of the new day, and Thomas can almost pretend that Marco's shadow is gone for good when Robert pulls him close in his dreams and his own eyes finally fall shut, the feeling of warm lips against the spot where his neck meets his shoulder following him into his sleep.


End file.
